sk.petsematary-第61部分

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　the　end　of　his　life；　and　every　now　and　then　he'd　just　gift　somebody　with　two　or　four　hundred　acres　when　he　got　into　his　cups。〃
　　〃Were　none　of　those　deeds　recorded？〃　Louis　asked；　fascinated　in　spite　of　himself。
　　〃Oh；　they　were　regular　bears　for　recording　deeds；　were　our　grandfathers；〃　Jud　said；　lighting　a　new　cigarette　from　the　butt　of　the　old　one。　〃The　original　grant　on　your　land　goes　like　this。〃　Jud　closed　his　eyes　and　quoted；　〃From　the　great　old　maple　which　stands　atop　Quinceberry　Ridge　to　the　verge　of　Orrington　Stream；　thus　runneth　the　tract　from　north　until　south。〃　Jud　grinned　without　much　humor。　〃But　the　great　old　maple　fell　down　in　1882；　let's　say；　and　was　rotted　to　moss　by　the　year　1900；　and　Orrington　Stream　silted　up　and　turned　to　marsh　in　the　ten　years　between　the　end　of　the　Great　War　and　the　crash　of　the　stock　market。　A　nice　mess　it　made！　It　ended　up　not　mattering　to　old　Anson；　any…ways。　He　was　struck　and　killed　by　lightning　in　1921；　right　up　around　where　that　burying　ground　is。〃
　　Louis　stared　at　Jud。　Jud　sipped　his　beer。
　　〃It　don't　matter。　There's　lots　of　places　where　the　history　of　ownership　is　so　tangled　it　never　gets　unraveled；　only　the　lawyers　end　up　makin　money。　Hell；　Dickens　knew　that。　I　suppose　the　Indians　will　get　it　back　in　the　end；　and　I　think　that's　the　way　it　should　be。　But　that　don't　really　matter；　Louis。　I　came　over　here　tonight　to　tell　you　about　Timmy　Baterman　and　his　dad。〃
　　〃Who's　Timmy　Baterman？〃
　　〃Timmy　Baterman　was　one　of　the　twenty　or　so　boys　from　Ludlow　that　went　overseas　to　fight　Hitler。　He　left　in　1942。　He　e　back　in　a　box　with　a　flag　on　the　top　of　it　in　1943。　He　died　in　Italy。　His　daddy；　Bill　Batennan；　lived　his　whole　life　in　this　town。　He　about　went　crazy　when　he　got　the　telegram。　。　。　and　then　he　quieted　right　down。　He　knew　about　the　Micmac　burying　ground。　you　see。　And　he'd　decided　what　he　wanted　to　do。〃
　　The　chill　was　back。　Louis　stared　at　Jud　for　a　long　time；　trying　to　read　the　lie　in　the　old　man's　eyes。　It　was　not　there。　But　the　fact　of　this　story　surfacing　just　now　was　damned　convenient。
　　〃Why　didn't　you　tell　me　this　that　other　night？〃　he　said　finally。　〃After　we。　。　。　after　we　did　the　cat？　When　I　asked　you　if　anyone　had　ever　buried　a　person　up　there；　you　said　no　one　ever　had。〃
　　〃Because　you　didn't　need　to　know；〃　Jud　said。　〃Now　you　do。〃
　　Louis　was　silent　for　a　long　time。　〃Was　he　the　only　one？〃
　　〃The　only　one　I　know　of　personally；〃　Jud　said　gravely。　〃The　only　one　to　ever　try　it？　I　doubt　that；　Louis。　I　doubt　it　very　much。　I'm　kind　of　like　the　preacher　in　Clesiastes…I　don't　believe　that　there's　anything　new　under　the　sun。　Oh；　sometimes　the　glitter　they　sprinkle　over　the　top　of　a　thing　changes；　but　that's　all。　What's　been　tried　once　has　been　tried　once　before　。　。　。　and　before。　。　。　and　before。〃
　　He　looked　down　at　his　liver…spotted　hands。　In　the　living　room；　the　clock　softly　chimed　twelve…thirty。
　　〃I　decided　that　a　man　in　your　profession　is　used　to　looking　at　symptoms　and　seeing　the　diseases　underneath。　。　。　and　I　decided　I　had　to　talk　straight　to　you　when　Mortonson　down　at　the　funeral　home　told　me　you'd　ordered　a　grave　liner　instead　of　a　sealing　vault。〃
　　Louis　looked　at　Jud　for　a　long　time；　saying　nothing。　Jud　flushed　deeply　but　didn't　look　away。
　　Finally　Louis　said：　〃Sounds　like　maybe　you　did　a　little　snooping；　Jud。　I　am　sorry　because　of　it。〃
　　〃I　didn't　ask　him　which　you　bought。〃
　　〃Not　right　out；　maybe。〃
　　But　Jud　did　not　reply；　and　although　his　blush　had　deepened　even　more…his　plexion　was　approaching　a　plum　color　now
　　…his　eyes　still　didn't　waver。
　　At　last；　Louis　sighed。　He　felt　unutterably　tired。　〃Oh；　fuck　it。　I　don't　care。　Maybe　you're　even　right。　Maybe　it　was　on　my　mind。　If　it　was；　it　was　on　the　downside　of　it。　I　didn't　think　much　about　what　I　was　ordering。　I　was　thinking　about　Gage。〃
　　〃I　know　you　were　thinking　about　Gage。　But　you　knew　the　difference。　Your　uncle　was　an　undertaker。〃
　　Yes；　he　had　known　the　difference。　A　sealing　vault　was　a　piece　of　construction　work；　something　which　was　meant　to　last　a　long；　long　time。　Concrete　was　poured　into　a　rectangular　mould　reinforced　with　steel　rods；　and　then；　after　the　graveside　services　were　over；　a　crane　lowered　a　slightly　curved　concrete　top　into　place。　The　lid　was　sealed　with　a　substance　like　the　hot…patch　highway　departments　used　to　fill　potholes。　Uncle　Carl　had　told　Louis　that　sealant…trade…named　Ever…Lock…got　itself　a　fearsome　grip　after　all　that　weight　had　been　on　it　for　a　while。
　　Uncle　Carl；　who　liked　to　yarn　as　much　as　anyone　（at　least　when　he　was　with　his　own　kind；　and　Louis；　who　had　worked　with　him　summers　for　a　while；　qualified　as　a　sort　of　apprentice　undertaker）；　told　his　nephew　of　an　exhumation　order　he'd　gotten　once　from　the　Cook　County　D。A。's　office。　Uncle　Carl　went　out　to　Groveland　to　oversee　the　exhumation。　They　could　be　tricky　things；　he　said…people　whose　only　ideas　concerning　disinterral　came　from　those　horror　movies　starring　Boris　Karloff　as　Dr。　Frankenstein's　monster　and　Dwight　Frye　as　Igor　had　an　entirely　wrong　impression。　Opening　a　sealing　vault　was　no　job　for　two　men　with　picks　and　shovels…not　unless　they　had　about　six　weeks　to　spend　on　the　job。　This　one　went　all　right　。　。　。　at　first。　The　grave　was　opened；　and　the　crane　grappled　onto　the　top　of　the　vault。　Only　the　top　didn't　just　pull　off；　as　it　was　supposed　to　do。　The　whole　vault；　its　concrete　sides　already　a　little　wet　and　discolored；　started　to　rise　out　of　the　ground　instead。　Uncle　Carl　screamed　for　the　crane　operator　to　back　off。　Uncle　Carl　wanted　to　go　back　to　the　mortuary　and　get　some　stuff　that　would　weaken　the　sealant's　grip　a　bit。
　　The　crane　operator　either　didn't　hear　or　wanted　to　go　for　the　whole　thing；　like　a　little　kid　playing　with　a　toy　crane　and　junk　prizes　in　a　penny　arcade。　Uncle　Carl　said　that　the　damned　fool　almost　got　it　too。　The　vault　was　three　quarters　of　the　way　out…　Uncle　Carl　and　his　assistant　could　hear　water　pattering　from　the　underside　of　the　vault　onto　the　floor　of　the　grave　（it　had　been　a　wet　week　in　Chicagoland）　when　the　crane　just　tipped　over　and　went　kerplunk　into　the　grave。　The　crane　operator　crashed　into　the　windshield　and　broke　his　nose。　That　day's　festivities　cost　Cook　County　roughly　3；000…2；100　over　the　usual　price　of　such　gay　goings…on。　The　real　point　of　the　story　for　Uncle　Carl　was　that　the　crane　operator　had　been　elected　president　of　the　Chicago　local　of　the　Teamsters　six　years　later。
　　Grave　liners　were　simpler　matters。　Such　a　liner　was　no　more　than　a　humble　concrete　box；　open　at　the　top。　It　was　set　into　the　grave　on　the　morning　of　a　funeral。　Following　the　services；　the　coffin　was　lowered　into　it。　The　sextons　then　brought　on　the　top；　which　was　usually　in　two　segments。　These　segments　were　lowered　vertically　into　the　ends　of　the　grave；　where　they　stood　up　like　bookends。　Iron　rings　were　embedded　into　the　concrete　at　the　ends　of　each　segment。　The　sextons　would　run　lengths　of　chain　through　them　and　lower　them　gently　onto　the　top　of　the　grave　liner。　Each　section　would　weigh　sixty；　perhaps　seventy　pounds…　eighty；　tops。　And　no　sealer　was　used。
　　It　was　easy　enough　for　a　man　to　open　a　grave　liner；　that's　what　Jud　was　implying。
　　Easy　enough　for　a　man　to　disinter　the　body　of　his　son　and　bmy　it　someplace　else。
　　Shhhhh。　。　。　shhhh。　We　will　not　speak　of　such　things。　These　are　secret　things。
　　〃Yes；　I　guess　I　knew　the　difference　between　a　sealing　vault　and　a　grave　liner；〃　Louis　said。　〃But　I　wasn't　thinking　about　about　what　you　think　I　was　thinking　about。〃
　　〃Louis…〃
　　〃It's　late；〃　Louis　said。　〃It's　late；　I'm　drunk；　and　my　heart　aches。　If　you　feel　like　you　have　to　tell　me　this　story；　then　tell　me　and　let's　get　it　over　with。〃　Maybe　I　should　have　started　with　martinis；　he　thought。　Then　I　could　have　been　safely　passed　out　when　he　came　knocking。
　　〃All　right；　Louis。　Thank　you。〃
　　〃Just　go　on。〃
　　Jud　paused　a　moment；　thinking；　then　began　to　speak。
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　　〃In　those　days…back　during　the　war；　I　mean…the　train　still　stopped　in　Orrington；　and　Bill　Baterman　had　a　funeral　hack　there　at　the　loading　depot　to　meet　the　freight　carrying　the　body　of　his　son　Timmy。　The　coffin　was　unloaded　by　four　railroad　men。　I　was　one　of　them。　There　was　an　army